Miyako, Queen of Yellow
by the flying yolei society
Summary: We all love sweet Miyako/Iori friendship fics, don't we?


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Miyako, Queen of Yellow

Miyako, Queen of Yellow The principal of Odaiba High School was very fond of pastel yellow (or at least he must have been at a certain time, but he probably hated the color now) The high school was a beige stucco building, with its name written in dark brown (which is, after all, only a darker shade of pastel yellow) above the high brass-handled doors. The walls were covered with pastel yellow paint, with pastel yellow blinds to match, and pastel yellow stains on the darker rug. The cafeteria food was yellow as well, with an occasional dark brown blob. Miyako wondered if it was Unintentionally Burned Things, or if the brown (Spices, maybe? Meat of sorts?) had been added for extra bad taste.

The people were not yellow, but almost, their skin pale next to the grassy green uniforms. Miyako smoothened the folds of her skirt with her left hand, took a deep breath and entered the high door to the pastel yellow hallway, making her way through the crowd of yellowy-faced high schoolers to her pastel yellow locker, filled to the brim with pastel yellow schoolbooks. 

Miyako didn't like pastel yellow (she liked purple better). She might have liked it though, if she had not been exposed to heaps and heaps of this color every day, from eight to three. And what was worse, Iori wasn't there to laugh of the horrendous color combinations of the trays and the plates that sat on them. She was in third grade when Iori arrived to Odaiba, and since then, they walked, every day, from the elementary school and back, 24.6 minutes per day. In four years, she had spent two weeks' worth of 24.3 minutes walks with Iori. 

She could, of course, discuss of mismatching colors (among others things) with Koushiro, but she knew Koushiro didn't really listen, and that he didn't mind that the trays were orange and the plates brown. Besides, Koushiro LIKED pastel yellow, because it was the same color as his laptop, and since it was the thing Koushiro liked better in the whole world, there was no point in arguing. Koushiro always had been a very good arguer, better than Miyako was. She'd just scream a lot, and pound whichever poundable surface was closer to her fists. He'd stand there, unbearably calm, and recite facts he'd learned watching 60 Minutes, annoying things like how pastel yellow is a good color for schools to be painted with because it is both calming and motivating. Koushiro would make a good politician, a quiet, but likeable guy, he debated well. as well as people on TV, he spoke good, precise English, with no accent, unlike her. 

Iori would smile with her, smiling was Iori-ese for laughing. He'd just noticed the colors and how awful they looked and he wouldn't try to argue with her about how much better the school would be if the walls were purple. Iori was like that, quiet, and listening. He didn't say a thing, but somehow you knew he was listening, that he understood what you said, that he sympathized with you even though you (and him as well) knew you were wrong.

Miyako stared at the brown plate on the orange tray, listened to the steady beeps of Koushiro's (pastel yellow) laptop, moved the food around on her plate. (It looked like fish sticks, but she wasn't sure, since they were swimming, just as everything else, in a sickeningly sweet yellowy sauce.) She could have asked Koushiro what the food exactly was, but he'd probably say it was fish sticks, and that fish was good for your brain, so she should eat it. Maybe he'd say it casually, or maybe with heavy insistence.

"It's good for your **BRAIN.**" 

She threw the fish sticks away in the big trash can, carefully setting the orange tray at the top of its orange-tray-ish friends. The silverware was to be put away in a plastic bucket filled with soapy water, the glasses were to be thrown away, they were polystyrene. Miyako stared at the fish sticks, her uneaten YELLOW fish sticks sitting to rot in the trash and felt a little guilty

After all, it's** GOOD** for your **BRAIN**

Iori wouldn't nag her about fish sticks, Miyako thought, even though Koushiro hadn't said anything to her either. He would just stare at her with wide green eyes, and let her play with her food as long as she wanted to. 

Maybe Miyako had a slightly romanced view of Iori. Maybe Iori would not laugh of the bad colors of the trays and plates, and maybe he would mind her playing with her food. And maybe he'd think yellow was an okay color, even though he liked gray better. 

And then, Miyako went down the pastel yellow hallway, down the closed pastel yellow door of the classrooms and up to the pastel yellow bathroom, where she sat down and cried. She cried for Iori, and the 12.3 minutes walk that would be no more, and for the things that would never be the same again

  
  
  
  
_ A diet of all Twinkies and no so-called proper food makes Rianne a very hyper person. A very MUSHY hyper person. And a mushy person likes to write mushy-happy-cute-friendship fics, that's a known fact. I am happy right now, though I don't even know why. _

Uh... sorry.... I'm sure I see this fic as good just because I am a bit on the hyper side tonight. ^^;;; I used the word 'yellow' 25 times... 

Digimon is © Toei Animation. This story is however © 2000 Rianne (rianne@chemicalsmile.com) and may be freely used as long as the author's name and e-mail address remain intact (This mean: Take the story, put it on your web page, print it out and worship it, but leave my e-mail and name)


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